


Purification Complete?

by Tzalmavet



Category: OFF (Game)
Genre: Gen, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 11:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12231708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tzalmavet/pseuds/Tzalmavet
Summary: The Batter encounters a particularly daunting impurity during his quest through zone 3.





	Purification Complete?

The Batter swung his bat hard into the Burnt's stomach.  It screeched in pain, but its cry devolved into a gurgle as its body finally gave out.  Its wickedly sharp claws dissolved, and the geyser of smoke and liquid gushing from its neck poured onto the floor as its impure form melted away at last.

_Purification complete._

These Calvary-burnts sure were a pain to deal with.  No matter where he went, there were impure spirits and suffering people; and it all only got worse the further he ventured.  It was his sacred duty to cleanse these zones, and he carried it out without complaint, but the holiness of the work didn't make it any less messy.

Speaking of messes, he felt something on his face.  Strange... He couldn't recall getting hit in the face during that fight, and yet he felt a numbness in the side of his jaw and something dripping onto his tunic.  The Batter reached up with his free hand and wiped the blood from his mouth.  He drew it back to see how much of it he'd gotten on his fingers, and froze.

It was _black._

Ice filled the Batter's chest.  His blood was _red._   Red like a human's.  He'd seen it more times than he could count.  The... _substance_ on his fingers was thick, black, and oily, and even more of it was still dripping down his chin.

The Batter pressed his lips together tightly.  No, no, this _wasn't_ what it looked like.  This _couldn't_ be what it looked like.  He wiped a sleeve across his face.  Certainly the Burnt had just liberally splattered its fluids on him during its thrashing, that _had_ to be it.

But the taste of charcoal and chemicals rapidly filling his mouth begged to differ.  The sensation was warm and gritty, and the flavor was terrible.  He glanced around to try and see what spectre was tormenting him with this blasphemy, but saw none.  Where was it coming from?!  His breath hitched, and he slapped a hand over his mouth.  
He couldn't breathe.  The stuff was under his tongue, threatening to be swallowed, and he'd never been good at holding his breath.  He tried to will it away, to make it stop, but it wouldn't relent.  He couldn't continue to hold it in his cheeks, behind his lips and hand.  There was no more room.  A tiny bit of it trickled down the back of his throat.

The Batter at once doubled over into a coughing fit.  It _burned._   Black splattered on the metal floor as he hacked and shook.

_No, no, no._

The coldness that penetrated him before turned hot and painful.  His stained hands trembled.  Why was this happening to him?!  He was supposed to be pure, wasn't he?  He wasn't neurotic and diseased like the natives of these horrible lands.  He was righteous, _pure._   His mind had never once strayed from his sacred mission.  His heart had never faltered.  His spirit was supposed to be clean, from his first breath to his last.  He was born to be incorruptible, and yet darkness now flowed from out of him.

He couldn't even work up the outrage the situation deserved; he just felt sick.  Was _this_ the fear that poisoned the zones?  He didn't like it.  This was all wrong.  He was _good!_   He was _saving_ the world!  What was its corruption doing inside of him?!

A wave of nausea crashed into the Batter, burning and visceral.  He was much, _much_ too warm, and everything spun around him.  The Batter tried to cover his mouth again, but it was no use.  His stomach jumped, and scalding hot black liquid poured out of his mouth like a faucet.  The strength immediately left his legs, and he fell on his knees into the puddle at his feet.

 _Please, no._   He didn't want this.  He wasn't a spectre.  He wasn't a ghoul.  He didn't want to torment men and sow discord and illness.

The Batter tried desperately to catch his breath.  His Add-ons had gathered in front of him, and he looked up at them helplessly.  Three wide, round, unblinking eyes, staring back at him.  Even as mindless as they were, he felt as though he was being judged by them.

The pain was unbearable.  He tried to soothe it with a healing competence, but he couldn't get it to work.  A high-pitched, pitiful noise was the only sound he could make.  He tasted ashes, and black streaks flashed across his vision.  

The Batter reached a hand, shaky and soiled, out to his Add-ons.  He needed help.  He didn't know what they could do for him, but he was too frightened to think.  He stretched to hold onto one, but his fingers passed right through it.

As if he were an impure.  As if he wasn't one with them, anymore.

The Batter coughed and collapsed.  An awful, ringing numbness penetrated his jaws and all the way down his neck.  The burning, black substance kept pouring out of his mouth unhindered.  His lungs felt as though they were full of fire-- dreadful, punishing hellfire that caught onto his every nerve and made it sing with agony.

He desperately wanted to be dead.  Impure things needed to be struck down and purged of their corruption.  It had always been his duty to relieve the world of this kind of suffering, and now he needed to be relieved of it himself.  He still didn't understand why this had happened to him.  He just wanted to be pure.

He felt his thoughts begin falling away.  _Ah,_ at least he wouldn't be aware when he lost himself.  Darkness covered his eyes, and he welcomed the merciful embrace of unconsciousness.

* * *

The Batter came to, lying still on the floor.  His body was heavy, and he kept his eyes closed.  What happened?  He couldn't remember it clearly, but _something_ had happened.  From what he could tell, his health points and status were fine, but he still felt off, for some reason.

Something cool pressed itself against the Batter's cheek.  It felt pleasant, and he sighed.

It nudged him again, and he peeked one eye open.  It was Omega.  He realized that he was on his side, curled up tight, and his hands were clutching his bat in a death grip.  The other two Add-ons were close above his body, protectively hovering over him.

The Batter opened the rest of his eyes and grabbed onto Omega, and the Add-on helped him to his feet.  His limbs were sore, and he wondered how long he'd been out.  He looked around.  He was still in zone 3, that was obvious.  But the floor he was standing on was black, like a huge bucket of paint had been spilled there.

He recognized it as the toxic runoff that usually evaporated whenever he purified a Burnt.  A chill went up the Batter's spine as he stared into it.  A thought appeared to him, outside of his will, and his heart skipped a beat.

**_No._ **

Impossible.  Impossible and offensive.  He was pure of body, clean of spirit.  The dark stains on his clothes could never penetrate his flesh and mar his soul.  The very idea was _obscene,_ and he kicked it away as hard as he could.

The Batter turned his back on the spot of floor and marched away, suppressing a shudder.  He didn't have time to play these sick games with the foul spirits of zone 3.

There was still purification to be done.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this comic.](http://jorratedlegs.tumblr.com/post/163328732976/his-greatest-fear-is-being-impure-right)


End file.
